A Sight for Sore Eyes
by Ster J
Summary: Spock struggles with blindness and McCoy's guilt. Post-"Operation: Annihilate!"
1. Blindness

A Sight for Sore Eyes by Ster J  
  
DISCLAIMER: Don't own Trek. Wish I did. It may own ME, however.  
  
Characters: Spock, McCoy, Kirk, Peter Kirk  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Genre: Angst  
  
Setting: Post-"Operation: Annihilate!"  
  
Part I  
  
It's dark. Everything is dark now. They left me here, alone. Is someone coming back for me? I am not as familiar with this particular lab, however, I am certain that, if I could only concentrate, I could recall the layout of this room. But fighting the creature that now lies dead within me and controlling its pain all this time has fatigued me beyond words, beyond...  
  
So tired. How hard can it be to grope my way back to the ward? I rise to my feet easily enough with the aid of the desk, but I find that I am unable to let go of its security. Or am I afraid? *Illogical! Estimate the distance to the door and get moving!* Interesting. Human psychology speaks of the inner parent. Mine sounds like Sarek. *Enough analysis! Move!* I move cautiously into the center of the room, shuffling, arm outstretched. I hear the sensor open the door in front of me. Success! I move confidently, sure of my goal, when, suddenly, my face makes sharp contact with the doorframe.  
  
Just as suddenly, I find myself on my backside, warm liquid pouring down my face. I have bumped my forehead, just under the hairline. I reach a hand to the point of impact and it comes away sticky. It feels like blood.  
  
"Is anyone there?" I call out. No answer. "Anyone?" I call again. I get up on all fours and start crawling forward--hopefully--trying to find sickbay. I know that the sight of the First Officer crawling through the halls to be an ignoble one, but I need assistance, now. "Help!"  
  
Finally, I hear the sound of running feet, of "Oh, my God, Spock!" I feel a cloth pressed to my head and hear the sound of a scanner.  
  
"What happened, Spock?" McCoy asks. "What are you doing out here?" I explain how I bumped my head trying to get to sickbay.  
  
"We were coming back for you. Why didn't you wait?"  
  
"I was tired," I admit. McCoy squeezes my shoulder. I could sense his deep remorse. "Help me up," I ask him. "I can walk, I just need guidance." My voice sounds so small, so vulnerable to me. I... I don't like that. I haven't changed. Just my eyes.  
  
I try not to think of the implications of that while the doctor gets me to my feet. He places my hand on his shoulder and leads me to the ward. He has me sit at a table while he tends to my wound.  
  
"Well, you hit the edge of the door in just the right place to split the skin," McCoy reports. "There's no concussion. We'll just clean this and close it up. Then you can get some rest." The doctor says nothing further. I can still sense his torment over the cause of my blinding. I grope around until I find his arm. I must make him understand.  
  
"Doctor, this self-recrimination must cease. I have many questions, many needs. Wallowing in guilt, you are of no use to me. I volunteered. I caused my own blindness, not you." I squeeze his arm. "Please," I say quietly. "I _need_ you." I hear McCoy draw a ragged breath. The doctor gently removes my hand from his arm and tells me, "Try to hold still." He then continues caring for me in silence. I sigh.  
  
I wonder what will become of me now. Is there still a place for me in Starfleet? Assisted vision devices are so unwieldy and unsatisfactory. I could no longer serve aboard a ship. If Starfleet sees me as a liability, they will cut me loose.  
  
I don't dare return to Sarek in this condition. When I left home to go to the Academy, Father told me that Starfleet would send me home damaged or in a box. It seems that his dire prediction may have come true. *This wallowing in self-pity is degrading and illogical! It serves no purpose. Control!* McCoy finishes repairing the wound and smoothes my hair back into place.  
  
"I'd like to keep you here for a while," he suggests gently. "We'll find you a quiet corner so you can rest." He takes my arm and leads me to a bed on the far side of the ward. I loosen my collar and wiggle out of my boots before crawling onto the bed. I feel one blanket, then another drawn over me.  
  
"Sleep well," McCoy murmurs. I take the left edge of the covers in my right hand and pull them over my shoulder as I turn onto my side, away from the doctor. I want to be alone with my thoughts. Emotions surge and threaten to overwhelm me. I start to tremble, to gasp. *Self-indulgence!* I shake myself. I will not give in to emotion! I concentrate on breathing deeply and fall quickly asleep.  
  
"Spock! Hey, wake up!" I feel someone shaking my shoulder. "You're having a nightmare." McCoy's voice.  
  
I roll back quickly at the sound, and open my eyes. "What is it? What's wrong?"  
  
"It looked like you were running in your sleep. What were you dreaming about?" I don't answer his question. I raise my finger and touch McCoy squarely on the nose. I pull my hand away and cover my mouth to hide my surprise. "Can you see me?" the doctor asks with a voice full of hope. I nod, blink, and nod again. Then, appallingly, tears spring to my eyes.  
  
"What's happening?" I ask.  
  
McCoy covers my eyes and barks to someone, "Dim the lights!" He takes an instrument and examines my eyes. "Tell me what you see."  
  
"It's like... It's like coming indoors from the bright sunshine. Everything has a dark cast to it." McCoy shines a light into my eyes, then jumps back.  
  
"What in blazes!"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"What did you just do with your eyes?" I shrug.  
  
"I blinked." McCoy shakes his head.  
  
"Impossible. I was holding your eye open." I shrug again.  
  
"I blinked my inner eyelid." McCoy lowers his instrument.  
  
"Your what?"  
  
"My inner eyelid. All Vulcans have them. I thought you knew." I see the doctor shake his head.  
  
"Will wonders never cease," he says with a touch of sarcasm. He bends again over my face and examines my eyes. "Everything looks fine now. Is your vision clearing up?" I cast my gaze about the room as McCoy raises the lights again.  
  
"The acuity is not yet what it was, but there is a marked improvement." The doctor sighs.  
  
"Thank God." McCoy's relief seems so genuine. I could not resist the bait.  
  
"What involvement did the Deity have in this?" I watch as the doctor throws up his hands.  
  
"Who do you think gave you those blasted second eyelids?" I feign confusion.  
  
"My Vulcan ancestors?" I see McCoy screw up his face.  
  
"Oh, shut up, Spock." I notice the doctor moving toward a com link.  
  
"Please do not inform the captain just yet," I request. McCoy looks at me quizzically. "Let's go to the bridge together." The doctor smiles.  
  
"Yeah. Let's just walk in like nothing's happened and see how long it takes for him to notice." *Childish*. Perhaps, but satisfactory.  
  
As the two of us walk to the lift, I review all of the possible scenarios I had considered earlier, when I thought my blindness to be permanent. Is it shortsighted of me to have no plans for a possible future disability? Or would that be paranoid? McCoy disturbs my reverie as we near the bridge.  
  
"So, Spock, what were your first thoughts on regaining your sight?" I thought for a brief moment.  
  
"I now understand another of Mother's old Earth sayings." McCoy crosses his arms and looks at me warily.  
  
"Oh? And which one might that be?" I turn my full gaze to McCoy.  
  
"You were a sight for sore eyes."  
  
Part II  
  
The sound of my cabin doors opening wakens me.  
  
"Spock? Are you here?" I turn on my reading light. Captain Kirk stands before me, holding his nephew Peter in his arms.  
  
"What's wrong?" I ask sleepily as I struggle to sit up. Jim looks down at the sleeping boy.  
  
"I can't wake him up." The captain sounds almost frantic. "McCoy says there is nothing wrong with him physically, but he won't come to. You've got to help him, you've got to." His voice falls to a whisper. "I can't lose him, too." Jim is asking for the Vulcan mind meld. I am so fatigued after the day's events that I do not think I can achieve a link to rouse Peter. I tell Jim so.  
  
"Please." Jim isn't asking me or ordering me to do this; he is begging. I reconsider and reach for the child. Jim places him carefully in the crook of my arm.  
  
As soon as I touch the child, I know that he has retreated deep within himself. He has thrown up a wall of fear to protect himself from the pain.  
  
"Peter?" I speak quietly to him. "My name is Spock. I am a friend of your uncle Jim. I know what you have been through, Peter. I was attacked by the creature also. I know your pain. But, Peter, the pain is gone now. The creature is gone and cannot hurt you anymore. Don't be afraid.  
  
"I'm going to touch your mind, Peter, and help you to come back. I will not hurt you." I place my hand on Peter's face and begin the chant. "My mind to yours, Peter, my mind to yours. Closer, closer. Our minds are touching, our minds are one."  
  
*Peter? It is I, Spock. You have nothing to fear. It is safe to come back now. You are well. You are free of the pain. The creature is gone, and it cannot hurt you any more... Yes, your parents are gone, too. So, you knew all along...  
  
*Peter, your uncle Jim needs you now. He needs you to come back. He is so sad, Peter, so sad. Come back to him. No, you are not alone now. He is here, and he needs you now, Peter. Come back. I will show you the way.  
  
*There is no shame in your tears, Peter. I grieve with thee. Let it out, Peter, let it all out.  
  
I feel a hand on my shoulder, shaking me firmly. "Snap out of it, Spock," I hear. I open my eyes and cannot see clearly. My vision! Not again!  
  
Someone is wiping my face. McCoy. When did he arrive? I feel the boy's chest heaving against my own and know that Peter is weeping. We both were, evidently. Jim scoops his nephew off the bunk and into his arms. I hear him murmur reassuredly to the boy as I fight to regain myself after the arduous meld.  
  
"Are you okay?" McCoy asks me. I nod.  
  
"I'm so tired," I whisper. McCoy straightens my bed around me.  
  
"It's been a long, hard day for you. Go back to sleep." I turn to look at Jim. He is still busy comforting Peter, yet he takes a moment to mouth "Thank you" before leaving my cabin. I nod to him, then sink back onto the bed.  
  
"Will Peter be all right?" I ask, fighting to stay awake long enough to hear the doctor's answer. McCoy nods.  
  
"Thanks to you." As I give in to sleep, I hear McCoy muttering to himself as he leaves my cabin.  
  
"Poor kid!"  
  
FIN 


	2. Fever

A Sight for Sore Eyes--Part 3  
  
Early the next morning, I awaken past my usual rising time, and I notice a stiffness in my neck. My cabin seems warmer than usual as well. I attribute all of this to the trauma of the previous day. My body needs time to heal itself, I suppose. It is a good thing that I am still on the sick list.  
  
My stomach rumbles. When I cannot remember my last meal, I know that it is time to take nourishment, but the thought of food nauseates me.  
  
My last thought puzzles me. Why am I so nauseous? Should I trouble McCoy with this, or do as Mother would say and "tough it out"?  
  
The sound of the door buzzer rouses me from a light doze. When did I fall asleep? I am truly mystified as I call out, "Come."  
  
Nurse Chapel stands at my door. I signal her to enter.  
  
"How are you feeling, Mr. Spock?" she asks as she waves a scanner in my direction. I open my mouth to answer, but then she rushes to my console and hits a button.  
  
"Medical emergency, Mr. Spock's cabin!" she calls urgently. I open my mouth to ask a question, but my voice sounds suspiciously like Dr. McCoy's. Then I realize that it is he speaking over the intercom.  
  
"What's wrong?" he demands.  
  
"Mr. Spock's temperature is highly elevated, Doctor," she replies. I have a fever? That would explain the heat in this room.  
  
"Any other symptoms?" he asks. Chapel cocks an eyebrow my way. She does a very good impression of me, I notice. I then realize that she is waiting for me to answer McCoy.  
  
"I am very nauseous," I answer weakly.  
  
"When did you eat last, Spock?" the doctor asks. Again about food! I shame myself by responding with a couple of dry heaves. "Okay, I'll send a team with a gurney. Start the IV right away, Chris."  
  
"Understood, doctor. Chapel out." I watch as the nurse enters my lavatory and emerges soon after with a wet washcloth. She runs it gently over my heated face then fans it a bit, folds it, and lays it against my forehead. It feels so good, so comforting. She repeats the process a few times while waiting for the orderlies.  
  
"What's wrong with me?" I croak.  
  
"Looks like you have some kind of infection," Nurse Chapel replies. "Where are those orderlies?" she mutters.  
  
"An infection? Would that be causing my stiff neck as well?" I ask. Christine starts.  
  
"Stiff neck?" She hands me the washcloth, picks up the scanner again and runs it over my neck. "High fever and stiff neck are classic symptoms of meningitis," she tells me.  
  
We both turn at the sound of my cabin doors opening.  
  
"Took you long enough!" the nurse fumes as she scoops up the IV supplies.  
  
"Sorry, ma'am. Corridors and lifts are real busy this time of morning."  
  
"Well, we'll just have to review emergency procedures, won't we, Corpsman," she answers as she efficiently hooks me up to the IV. Our head nurse seems to be a lematya when riled. I'll have to remember that.  
  
As the orderlies load me onto the stretcher, I hear Christine once again at my sink, rinsing the cloth and hanging it to dry. How considerate of her, I note.  
  
The orderlies have placed me on my back, but I cannot abide that position for some reason. It irritates my neck and upper back. I roll to my side before they have the chance to tighten the restraints.  
  
"Try to lie still, sir," one of the men state.  
  
"I can't," I grouse. My, I sound petulant! What is wrong with me?  
  
"Ma'am?" the other orderly calls. "Did you see this on his neck?" I hear the nurse snap on some protective gloves and then feel her gentle fingers lifting my hair and pulling down the neckline of my t-shirt.  
  
"Some kind of rash," she muses. She straightens suddenly, passing gloves and masks to the others before donning her own mask. "Let's roll, guys." I feel her drape something over my neck and upper back.  
  
"CLEAR THE HALL!" one of the orderlies bark as we exit my cabin.  
  
Once in the turbo lift, I hear Christine activate the intercom.  
  
"Maintenance department, take lift car 3-starboard off service for bio decontamination, authorization Chapel. Out." Decon? I reflect. She thinks I'm contagious?  
  
"Standard procedure, Mr. Spock," she tells me, as if she had been reading my thoughts. I am too miserable to think of a reply. Christine turns again to the intercom.  
  
"Sickbay, contagion procedures recommended."  
  
"Sickbay, acknowledged," is the last thing I hear as sleep overtakes me again.  
  
A low moaning rouses me. I'Chaya feels so different, so smooth, as I snuggle closer. He also smells so much better. But why is he moaning, and what is that annoying beeping?  
  
I realize then that I am not at home, I am not holding my pet sehlat, and that I am once more in Sickbay. I am on a diagnostic bed, lying partially on my stomach, with a large, firm pillow under one arm and leg. I am hot, I am weak and I need to relieve myself. I try to call out, but all I can manage is some weak sounds.  
  
It is enough to summon Nurse Chapel. She bends down to peer into my face.  
  
"Mr. Spock? How can I help you?" she asks. I moan again feebly in the effort to speak, but I can manage one word.  
  
"Urinal?" Christine smiles gently.  
  
"You don't need one," she whispers.  
  
"Yes, I do," I insist softly. The nurse leans closer.  
  
"You have a catheter." I try to lift a brow.  
  
"I do?" I manage.  
  
'Yes," she croons, "so just ... go." I feel her lift the hair at the back of my head.  
  
"What's wrong with me?" I croak.  
  
"Your body is trying to get rid of the remains of the creature inside you," she answers. "Your white blood cells are attacking it. That's the reason behind the fever and these pustules." The nurse smoothes my hair back down. "The pattern across your neck and back remind me of shingles." Shingles? I wonder.  
  
"What do wooden signs have to do with my illness?" I murmur. Christine actually laughs out loud.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Spock!" she replied. "No, shingles is a viral infection of the nerve roots, part of the chicken pox virus. The difference is the fever. There's no fever with shingles. Also you are not contagious, like shingles. The stiffness in your neck, the nausea, and the high fever made me think it was meningitis, which is an inflammation of the membranes around the brain or spinal cord. And some types of the disease include rash. Dr. McCoy is certain, though, that it is not meningitis. It's residual from the creature. Other victims on the planet are showing the same symptoms." I thought of Captain Kirk's young nephew.  
  
"Peter?" I croak.  
  
"Peter has very mild symptoms," Christine answers. She was quiet for a while, thoughtful. "I think that the severity has to do with the size of the patient and how useful he or she was to the creature's plan. Peter is a little boy who doesn't know how to build a ship, whereas you are larger and have more information. You were much more useful to the creature, so they tried to control you more by growing more tentacles inside of you." I shudder at the memory of the intense pain the creature inflicted on me.  
  
Christine notices my drooping eyelids.  
  
"I'll let you get back to sleep. Do you need anything?"  
  
"Water?" I wheeze.  
  
"I have some ice chips right here." I open my mouth as she spoons a few onto my tongue. They melt so quickly, I imagine that I hear them sizzling. As she puts more ice in my mouth, I realize how truly weak I am. I would not allow her to play servant to me if I were in my right mind.

  
  
"Ungh," Someone places a hand on my shoulder in a caress.  
  
"Spock?" I moan again at the pain being caused by this person's touch. Who is it? I cannot open my eyes, I cannot open my mind to see who is assailing me so. "Spock? It's Jim. I came to see how you are doing." I moan louder.  
  
"He doesn't want you to touch him." I hear a young voice. Who?  
  
"What?"  
  
"Uncle Jim, he doesn't want anyone to touch him." I deduce that it is Peter speaking.  
  
"How do you know that?" Jim sounds irritated, and exhausted. I am certain that this time has been so difficult for him.  
  
"Because I didn't want anyone to touch me either. It hurt too much." Peter sounds weak, as if he is still in the throes of this illness.  
  
"I didn't know, Spock" Jim says softly. He was quiet for a while. "I'll be back later," he says at last. "You rest." I hear him turn to his nephew. "You, too, young man. Back in bed." I hear the soft hush of blankets being pulled up. So, Peter and I are neighbors in Sickbay. Soon after Jim's footsteps retreat, I hear the rustle of covers again. A small hand caresses the top of my head. I whimper.  
  
"I won't hurt ya," Peter says quietly. "I know you don't feel good. My dad touches my head like this to help me calm down and get to sleep when I don't feel good. He calls me 'Sport' or "Red,' on account of my hair." The caresses stop. "He used to touch me like this," Peter whispers sadly. He sighs. "Can I do it for you? Does it help?" All I can manage is another whimper.  
  
I am amazed as I fall asleep. Peter's touch is actually helping.   
  
"Basin!" I call, frantic. My stomach is about to erupt. "Basin!" I call again. I hear a rustle and the sound of small feet. Soon enough, a bowl is placed under my chin, and I vomit gloriously.  
  
"Eww!" I hear. That did not sound like a very professional response to my distress.  
  
"I'll take over, young man," I hear Christine say. "You get back to bed." I give one more heave, then sink heavily back onto the bed. I feel a straw put gently to my lips.  
  
"Here's some water, Spock," the nurse says. I eagerly pull a few sips. Soon I notice a foul smell. Christine lifts the bandage draped over my neck.  
  
"Thar she blows!" she mutters. I feel her press clean gauze to the pustules on my neck and back. "Your blisters have broken, Mr. Spock," she tells me. "Once these drain, we can close up the wounds for you. " I feel her change the gauze again. "And once we get your temperature stabilized, we can get you out of here and back to duty."  
  
The room feels suddenly warmer as Christine continues to work. I notice her gentle yet firm hands on me, I catch her clean, sweet scent, and I sense her sincere concern for me. I also notice my body's own response to her. Preposterous! I think. I am laying here wearing a catheter because I am too weak to stand up and relieve myself in a normal manner. I have her draining a mass of pustules on my neck and across my shoulders that are at this moment reeking to the stars. My breath smells of vomit. I have a little boy rubbing my head so that I can calm down enough to sleep. And in the midst of it all I am aroused? Preposterous!  
  
It is not permitted me to respond to Christine--Nurse Chapel, I remind myself—because I am promised to another.  
  
T'Pring.  
  
I remember the small girl with the long, thick braid. I remember her large, solemn eyes. I do not remember her scent, just the smell of the incense as it burned, and the smell of the desert with its promise of another hot day.  
  
I remember my anxiety and the itch of the ceremonial robes I wore. I remember how I tamped down all my fears as my father and grandfather chanted the generations of my family back to Surak. I remember how the ancestors filled me with their spirit to make me strong and to help me in this bonding.  
  
I remember how T'Pring was singularly unimpressed.  
  
Oh, no. All my relations, no! This heat I feel, this response of my body to Chris ... , Nurse Chapel, these thoughts of T'Pring could mean only one thing.  
  
Oh, please! I beg the ancestors, please no. I cannot go through with this now. I'm too sick. Not now. Perhaps later. Perhaps ... never.  
  
  
I have finally been released from Sickbay and am reveling in the privacy and familiarity of my cabin. The first thing I do is relight the charcoal in the assenoi and sprinkle the incense.  
  
I notice a hand made card sitting on my pillow. It is a farewell and thank you from Peter. I will have to send him a message later.  
  
First, it will be a long night of mediation. I have to ascertain if I am truly entering into my Time, or if it was just the fever that caused those thoughts, memories, and ... reactions.  
  
Nurse Chapel saw to it that I ate three meals and two snacks each day I was in Sickbay so I could regain my strength. I feel as though I gained a kilo during my illness.  
  
No one will notice if I fast for the next few days. 


End file.
